Fire and Ice
by TheLadyLiberty
Summary: Fire and Ice are the two polar opposites of the world. As two opposing forces, they should never be allowed to mix, for it would end in disaster... Or would it? Rated T for suggestive content.
1. Prologue

**F. I. R. E. AND I. C. E.**

"Some say the world will end in fire,

Some say in ice.

From what I've tasted of desire

I hold with those who favor fire.

But if it had to perish twice,

I think I know enough of hate

To say that for destruction ice

Is also great

And would suffice."

~Robert Frost~

Fire and Ice are two elements of nature that have confounded men for many centuries.

They are like oil and water… there is no way to mix them. It's nigh impossible some would say, for both cannot live in harmony without one consuming the other in its wake. This is unavoidable, and no man has found a way for the two to coexist.

America and Russia are as Fire and Ice.

One is of the hottest flame, his temper wild, and his emotions unrestrained. He is the avatar of all that embodies freedom. He bows to no will but his own, and will spread where he goes like the fire he represents. With eyes of the purest blue and hair of the fairest grain, his spirit will conquer the winds of the sky and plunder the depths of the sea with his might, a might many have come to both fear and love. America will proudly fly his colors in the wind, unashamed and unafraid.

He is out of many, one.

Then, there is the man of ice. He is of gentle countenance when you first encounter him, an almost childlike bearing in his persona. Let this not fool you, though, for he is a true wolf in sheep's clothing. Inside of him lies a trembling soul likened unto a blizzard, a storm that also consumes everything in its path. Love finds it's home in few places here, for a heart of stone finds it difficult to grow the seeds of affection among it's cracks. This is not to say he has not loved before, but this man will seldom take affection for granted, for it means much in his books.

Especially since he destroys most of which he loves regardless.

Apart from one another, they flourish amidst those of their kind, the personifications. America and Russia stay well away from one another if they can, for they know that their meetings will only end in disaster. It's been this way for many years between them, and it is a fact they know will never change.

They are far too different _not _to have their disagreements. Their governments… their people…. their personalities… even their very _souls _are incompatible. They do not match in the slightest form or fashion. By all laws of nature and humanity, they should not even be in the same room with one another for fear of destruction.

So that is why their secret courtship defies logic.

The day that Fire and Ice mixed was a day that both America and Russia will not soon forget. That day was when America felt the chill of the Russian winter on his naked skin, a calm snow that doused his bright flames slightly. Likewise, Russia felt a warmth in those moments that he found he'd never felt before, his companion's fire like a raging inferno that couldn't be tamed. They tasted their opposite that night…. and both found they had cravings for it.

For the first time in centuries, Fire and Ice saw that they had want of one another, of need. The raging inferno waned and wanted the coolness and calm of the Ice, and the Ice wished for the spirit and warmth of the Fire. America and Russia…. were drawn to each other like magnets.

Their love (though purer than many), had repercussions of it's own as the two delved into it's realm of endless possibilities. Their knowledge of one another came at a price. As much as they began to love one another, there was also a dislike, a certain _contempt _for one another that the two could not erase.

Both could not comprehend how another could get under their skin so much; affect them in such a way. With Russia, it was as though someone had discovered a weakness that not even he knew he had, and it frightened him. He was not supposed to have a weakness…. Superpowers were invincible.

With America, similar thoughts crossed his mind. Though he was young, he knew not of the ways of love and affection, and how they worked. He understood the concept of familial affection, but this was a whole knew world that had been revealed to him. Besides, Russia… was his enemy. He should not be consorting with him like this….

Yet he did so anyway.

Their need and their want were too great.

Thus began the mixture of Fire and Ice.

xxxxxx

**Hello~. LadyLiberty here, and I hope you enjoyed the story. Next chapter will be uploaded soon, this weekend if possible. If not, we'll settle for weekly updates on this story. It won't be long, but I hope that it's reception goes well. Anyways, leave a review if you're interested. Thanks a bunch~! **


	2. Chapter 1

**Heyo~! **

**LadyLiberty here. Sorry for the late update! I meant to get this up on Friday, but after a rough night with no sleep on Thursday, I could not function or think. I feel as though this chapter may be a bit rushed, and it didn't come out quite like I wanted or planned it to, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. Next chapter should be up by next weekend. **

**Oh, and just a minor sidenote… in this chappy, Alfred is stationed at the closest U.S. military base to Cuba in Florida. This whole chapter takes place during the Cuban Missile Crisis, and in case you don't know what that is, please go look it up. ^^ **

FIRE: A FATAL ATTRACTION.

The smoke nearly looked like storm clouds.

This is what Alfred thought as he puffed on a cigarette that was propped on his lower lip. Smoke billowed from the cancer stick as he released the pent up smoke that had collected in his lungs. The menthol seemed to flow through his system, relaxing his frayed nerves and strained body. As he gazed up at the cloudless, sunny skies of southern Florida, he could almost believe that everything in the world was as it should be, even though he knew very well that it wasn't.

Throwing the cigarette to the concrete below him, he put the last of the embers out with his foot. Alfred leaned back against the wall of the military base he was stationed at. The beautiful beaches and the sparkling ocean was in sight from where he stood, making a slight smile come to his face. He had such a beautiful country with such beautiful people living in it; two things he would sacrifice life as he knew it for. This land was filled with his children, his very life force….

…And that _commie _was threatening it all.

His brow furrowed at this thought, anger bubbling up in his system. The American allowed himself to focus on the hot emotion. It had been a few years after this whole mess had started, all this Cold War business. That Russian had been interested in the new weapon that had increased Alfred's power in the world tenfold; the power that had decimated Japan. The two powers (Russia and America) had been competing for power long before their current struggle, though.

To say that the two did not like one another was a bit of an understatement. They disagreed upon everything from economics to the best tactics to be used at war. Russia and America were like oil and water, or fire and ice. It did not matter what comparison was used, what mattered was that the two were complete and total opposites.

Opposites do attract, though, as they say.

Alfred snorted softly in amusement as this thought surface in his mind among all the others. The statement was true despite how much his mind denied it (which was quite a lot, mind you). He knew that it didn't take a rocket scientist to see the relationship that he and Russia had. Every country from the North to the South Pole knew what went on between the two Super Powers.

The country's mind instantly drifted to the events that had conspired nearly six weeks ago… when he had last seen _him. _

Their meeting had been brief and fleeting, but it had been both pleasured and painful at the same time. In these few hours, the nation had met the complement to his personality and the match to his bruising strength. Russia (or Ivan as he had come to be known in their more intimate moments together), could walk the walk as well as talk the talk. The icy nation followed through on his promises, no matter how violent or seductive they were.

They'd laid with each other many a time now. Each time was more fevered and brutal than the last. As tensions rose between their respective countries, so did their respective drives to dominate and be with each other. Alfred could not count the amount of times he'd seen blood stain the sheets in which they would lie. The ridiculous amounts of torture that Alfred had inflicted on his secret lover, as well as vice-versa with Ivan, was near incomprehensible.

He lightly brushed his fingers over his right shoulder where the latest evidence of their times together lie. Ivan had been particularly vicious that last time, shredding his shoulder to pieces as they became one. In turn, Alfred had left his own marks upon the Russian's sides. Alfred's cheeks reddened as he recalled that night. He hadn't been able to walk for two days…

Quickly shaking the memories away, he cursed himself for thinking such thoughts at his enemy. Alfred was supposed to hate him, not act like he had a crush on the guy!

It was hard to resist the temptation, though, when the attraction to him was so… _magnetic. _The feelings were nearly physically tangible in the air to Alfred, and it made him both happy and sick to his stomach at the same time. He had to satisfy the craving that only Ivan could give him the cure for, an addiction that could only be satisfied by the most horrible of drugs.

So, he would continue to delve into these forbidden acts with his enemy in which he would truly test the limits of his physical as well as mental health. The music had already begun to play, and now was the time to finish this deadly dance.

They would both sway and twist to the beat of the music…

…. But only one would make it out alive.


	3. Chapter 2

_Next chapter! Pardon the lateness, I've been very busy lately with school, and drama from an ex-boyfriend has been keeping me occupied. I promise to try and keep updates weekly, but it will all depend upon how much homework my biology teacher decides to load me down with. _

_Anyways, onward to the next chapter! _

ICE: A CREEPING DEMISE

_October 16, 1962_

_Havana, Cuba_

_The Cuban Missile Crisis_

Flick.

Click.

Flick.

Click.

Flick.

_Click. _The Russian man opened and closed the lighter in his hand, watching the flame flicker on and off. Violet eyes were cold and calculating as he watched the small flame flicker to life and then just as quickly be extinguished. Ivan decided then that he had a lot of power in his hands; he could put this flame out quickly and at will with little to no effort.

The Russian flicked open the lighter again, but this time did not extinguish the flame. He watched it flicker into existence, and then brighten and grow hot. It was as though the small flame were trying to defy the confines of the lighter, as if it wanted to leap out of his hands and into the air-conditioned room he now sat in. The small fire seemed to want to consume and spread everything, almost like a rampant plague of sickness.

He supposed his enemy, America, was like that in some respects.

The man was insufferably loud and bright, a sickness that no one could just rid themselves of at the snap of their fingers. Alfred was always _there_, a plague on this world that Ivan had taken upon himself to remove. The boy kept growing in his power; taking countries left and right under his wings to train them in his evil capitalist ways (or they were in his opinion, at least. In Alfred's opinion, being communist was evil, but they could go round and round about whose system was better). In turn, Ivan had begun to do the same. He already had several countries under his system at the moment, Cuba being welcomed among the many.

Ivan felt as though he and Alfred were at a deadlock in their strength. One was not stronger than the other, and certainly not smarter. Though Russia had years of experience under his belt, the boy seemed to be able to match that intelligence with a startling degree of accuracy. Perhaps Alfred was not as hopeless as he seemed.

So, here he was. They'd been in this stare down for several days now, just staring at each other across the ocean. Ivan had his warheads pointed at the southern states along the coast (Georgia, Florida), and was prepared to fire should need be. His leader need only give the word, and the east coast of America would be decimated underneath an onslaught of nuclear warheads.

In turn, Alfred also had his missiles pointed at Ivan's country, prepared to fire if he needed to. His boss's hand hovered over the proverbial "big red button" just as Ivan's boss's did, and the two men were in just as much as a stare down as their respective nation's avatars. All in all, it was just a big long wait to see who would have the guts to push the button first, who would have the balls to start a nuclear war.

Alas, they were all too hesitant to fire. They'd seen what a nuclear weapon could do to a country, as seen by what America had done to Japan in World War II. When one imagined that all over the world, it became a very frightening concept. Everyone was in fear now, with good reason. No one wanted to see such destruction happen all over their beautiful planet.

This war had to come to an end, though…. and Ivan knew it would not end in a truce. One of them would trump the other in some way, somehow. Only time would tell what that method would be.

Leaning back in the comfortable desk chair that had been provided for him, he heaved a long sigh, the lighter still open in his hands. He continued to watch the flame burn hot and bright, and thought of his enemy. Alfred was just like this fire…. he burned so bright. He was in stark contrast to the Russian, who was like ice. Ivan had never felt the burn of such fire until he'd met Alfred, and that was something he would never forget.

In a way, Ivan supposed he did love the boy, though he'd never admit that out loud. Alfred showed him warmth in the midst of the winter, and he may or may not have held some degree of respect and admiration for a country so young. After all, America had defied some of the greatest and stood tall, Ivan himself among those greats. As he thought these things, Ivan found himself wishing he knew where Alfred was. Even if it was only to get into a fight with him, the Russian craved to feel that fire the boy so diligently seemed to radiate.

Just as much as he loved this fire, he would not stand for it to be equal to his ice. The flames needed to be put out and his ashes covered. There was not room for two superpowers in this world like the two of them, and one had to fall.

Ivan clicked the lighter closed with a flick of his thumb, a cold smirk coming to his features. He'd be the one to put out that fire….

…. And he would enjoy every last waking moment of it.


	4. Chapter 3

_I'M NOT DEAD._

_Sorry for such a long wait! I hope this chapter is enjoyable for those of you who've read the story this far. I'm also planning on uploading another chapter soon, perhaps later this week. _

_And again, reviews are appreciated! I hope you enjoy. _

_~TLL _

SPLINTER

_September 1, 1973_

_Washington D.C. _

_Shortly after the end of the Vietnam War. _

War was a terrible thing, Alfred had decided.

The past few years had shaken him to his core. Every value he held dear, every moral he held close had been knocked from its foundation and even now barely stood on its own. Alfred still felt so weak, so tired… He was struggling to find a hold on reality once more. The blonde's mind was still submerged in the dusky fog of what felt like a strange type of insanity; icy claws of numbness had sunk in all over his body. He could feel nothing.

He still felt their pain, both emotional and physical. Vietnam had brought an all-new meaning to the term "guerilla warfare". His opposition had been cruel; they found ways to play the Americans' morals against them. Strapping bombs to children and sending them into a mass of soldiers had been a favorite because they knew the Americans wouldn't fight back, and if they did, they were all labeled "baby killers". Alfred wanted to scream in frustration at the unfairness of it all, but when had war ever been fair? It was simple; you were to win by whatever means necessary. Even if those means weren't humane.

Inhumanity. He'd shown so much of that, he mused. As he watched his men be so cruelly torn apart, a monster had awakened inside of him, one he couldn't control. He'd turn into a vicious war machine, cold and calculating. Alfred liked to think he held a fair amount of respect for life (no matter how scummy some of it could be), but when he lost his grip, he found that nothing mattered anymore. Nothing mattered but finding the people who ripped the precious life from his men's bodies and seeking vengeance. The insatiable bloodlust was astounding, and it scared him to no end when he'd nearly turned on one of his own captains in the midst of a battle. He remembered that day clearly; it had been one of the bloodiest days of the war. It was also ironic, because he'd ended up holding that same captain's dead body in his arms hours later. His best friend and ally, Yong Soo (the personification of South Korea), had to pull him away. The Korean had been one of the only things that had tethered sanity back to his mind at the time, and even now, he had no way to express his gratitude.

It was a short time after this that he felt his men began to question what their purpose was in this Godforsaken war. Why were they suffering for seemingly no reason? Why were they fighting? This war had long lost its purpose, they said. They believed it, too. Alfred wanted to scream that this was to prevent something even worse from happening, that they had to keep that Braginsky's Communism at bay, but after a while even he had to admit that this was a losing battle. Sooner or later, he'd have to leave. The decision was passed by Congress to end U.S. Military involvement with an amendment that had them all leaving fairly quickly. Saigon was captured by North Vietnam soon after. The war was over… at least on the battlefield.

It was far from over in Alfred's head.

As he lay in his bedroom, sleep evaded him. The dark circles under his eyes would become a part of his daily appearance, he mused darkly. It was seldom when he got a decent amount of sleep these days; he was just too jumpy or anxious to get relaxed. Most of the time all he did was think, and for Alfred F. Jones, thinking was a dangerous habit.

After about an hour, he decided to get up (albeit three hours early, but hey, it was better than laying there feeling sorry for himself). He wandered to the kitchen to make some coffee and turn on the radio. Maybe something good might be playing?

Of course he was sorely disappointed. Nothing but commercials; it was typical of late night radio these days. He flicked it off and filled a cup with coffee, choosing to drink it black. The bitter taste would wake him up and maybe give him a jolt so he could get an early start on that leftover paperwork from yesterday. There was a mountain of it, after all.

There was also Braginsky left to deal with.

Rubbing his temple, the blonde set his cup down on the counter, leaning against it with a sigh. Though one could suppose the war went in the Russian's favor, there was no doubt the Soviet Union was declining, and rather fast. A few days after he'd pulled out of Vietnam, Alfred had received a taunting call from Ivan. The Russian had called him cowardly along with several other jeers, but at that particular point in time, Alfred's nerves were already thinner than a sheet of paper so he basically told the Russian to go do something rather inappropriate with himself involving that steel pipe of his and then promptly hung up. Well, at least Alfred still had his sense of humor.

There had been no contact between them after that. No visits, no letters, no phone calls. It was a far cry from where they'd first began with one another. Braginsky had been that one thing he wasn't able to have, and he was fairly sure Ivan felt the same way about himself…. They'd done things that they'd sworn never to talk about or do ever again. What would the world say if they found out the planet's two largest rivals were sleeping together? That would be hoot, wouldn't it?

Alfred snorted.

That didn't mean that the Russian didn't threaten to use it as some sort of blackmail. The threat never packed any real punch, though, because Alfred knew the Russian would never risk any sort of defamation to his precious Soviet Union.

He sighed, picking the cup back up to take a long sip. They'd have to meet soon, whether soon amounted to a few weeks or a year. It would probably be closer to the latter. Both of them had too much going on right now, too many campaigns to worry about elsewhere. Eventually they'd meet again….

The American wondered if the other had suffered as he had, even though he'd won in a sense. Braginsky had always had a bit of a tortured mind as it was, though. Perhaps he was the same as he'd been before, or worse…? With a sick sort of longing, he found himself wishing the other the same hell he'd been through, but at the same time, found himself the tiniest bit worried. Maybe he did still care…

A quick shake of the head pushed this thought away. No. He couldn't care. Not after all this….

Alfred topped his coffee off and grabbed his glasses from the table, shoving them on his face. He needed a distraction, and needed to get to work anyway. There was no time to worry about the unimportant stuff. Alfred could save that for a time when he didn't have so many other things to worry about. .

He had work to do, and that was that. 


End file.
